Diary of a Fang Banger
by Kairne
Summary: Follow Tobias on his adventure with the mysterious vampire of his dreams. Strong language, gay themes, and in general not for the faint of heart or homophobic.
1. Contact

Note: I do not own Sookie Stackhouse.  
>Second note: Do not read if you are disturbed by any of the following: graphic sex, gay sex, the fetish community in general (especially leather and power exchange). depictions of consensual BDSM, vampirehuman sex scenes, and me bashing on Twilight for being such a disgrace.

**Diary of a Fangbanger**

Chapter One  
><span>Contact<span>

True, I'm not completely a "fang-banger" in the sense that I'm nowhere near a groupie. Still, hordes of uninformed would be quick to call me that, and the banger community is more than happy to call me one of their own. Sometimes. I just happen to be a man who loves a vampire. Not because he's a vampire, just because he's him.

Mine is the side of the story you may never have heard. Some may not even be interested in it, even. "Yet another vampire romance," you may say. "Nothing good could ever come of a human and vampire loving each other," you may even exclaim. And I must admit there is a point there. Love between a human and a vampire is at times far too romanticized, when it can be far too difficult, dangerous, and some writers wish to defy the very beings vampires are, wishing to ignore their true ferocity and weaknesses. But sharing the love that dares not show its face in the sun is also rewarding, if you let it be. But never easy.

I'm Tobias, by the way. My tale starts a couple months before what has at times been called "The Reveal," the time when the vampires of the world dropped the largest bomb on the world since the Second Great War. It started in the office building where I worked.

I worked in an accounting building in Fresno, which, albeit a rather conservative, had a nice life all the same. A transplant like myself could never truly fit in, but after a couple years working the job, I had at least found a few friends, as well as a bit of a niche. It was a dry job, but it did pay the bills, with just the slightest left over for saving and spoils.

It was one of those late nights, you know the ones, where you're one of the few left in the office, re-checking the math you don't specifically remember doing, numbers flying through your head at a rapid pace. As I finished up the droll but necessary job, starting to pack up, someone walked into the office area. It was a man, who seemed to be a bit tall, wide build, and a green suit, dark green. Army green, perhaps. He walked through the room with purpose, as well as just the slightest bit of flair, making a beeline to my boss's office. As he passed me, however, he turned his head for the shortest of seconds, and our eyes met.

That gaze. His eyes were such soft blues, but deep. He was a firm kind of man. That much I could tell. In my own suit pants, I could feel my cock swelling. In the position I was in, halfway between sitting and standing, I was sure he'd seen it, but if he did, he paid it no mind as opened my boss's door and, without missing a step, disappeared inside the room. I could swear I saw the turn of a grin on his face as the door behind him, but even then, it was little more than a twitch.

I had a vivid dream that night, Usually, I don'thave dreams, especially not ones so intense, but that night was an exception.

For some reason, I was a dancer in a bar, a gay bar. Instead of what would be considered the "normal" punters for a gay bar in the sunny state of the west, it was full of men, well, men like myself. Thick builds, a lot of hair on most, even a few shaved heads. And as I danced onstage, I caught the eyes of a patron in the back of the bar. He was the same man, albeit dressed differently. Things I had not remembered noticing that night rounded off his appearance. His hair was slightly greyed, in a mohawk, with dark tips, the colour of which I could not tell exactly. A black denim vest, studded on the lapels with small spikes, and a white wifebeater were all he wore above the waist, and I thought I could make out chaps through the darkness. I vividly remember every detail of that outfit, as if it were burned into my mind.

The song ended, and I was vaguely aware that I was now off the clock. I emerged into the bar from the back room in practically no time at all, off the clock and ready to have a little fun. I looked at where the man was just a minute before, but he was gone. Feeling a bit down, I didn't notice someone behind me until he grabbed me from behind, hand over my mouth. I knew it was him.

A large hand of his caressed me below the waist, through my evening leathers. He ground his hips into my backside, and I could feel he was every bit as aroused as I was. The grinding was accompanied by more caressing, by the second getting considerably more firm and less gentle, all the while keeping a firm grip over my mouth. I was in hog heaven. I could feel what was coming, and after several minutes of the rough play, I shouted a muted moan into his hand, feeling him climax behind me as well.

I woke up suddenly, lap wet with more cum than I had ever shot at one time, even in my most virile teenage years.

The next day, I was not at all in the best way. I had woken up no less than three times during the night, each time a different dream, but the same effect when I woke up. In fact, it almost seemed like I shot more each time. I didn't put the sheet in the wash, though. I quite liked the smell.

Thing is, I almost felt as though I _had_ spent all night in a bar with a stranger, the emotional mix of one part shame, two parts satisfaction, and three parts dead-dog tired I had not felt since moving here. Those were the good times. Still, work was work, and I was not one to be late. In fact, I was the first one there that morning. When my boss came in, I figured it was a good time to ask him about the mysterious visitor he had the previous night. For purely educational purposed, I lied to myself. When I asked him who the man was, however, he was visibly perplexed, as if he did not recall such a man at all.

"What?"

"The man who came in last night, around seven. Grey hair, green suit?"

"Tobias, I didn't have anyone enter my office last night. I was working reports until half of ten," he remarked. "No such man came in."

"But I saw-"

"_Mister_ Silver," he said, familiarity thrown out the window. "Nothing like what you described happened."

I could tell by his expression that he honestly believed that. "Yes, sir," I said. "Must have been a dream, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Get back to work now, Mister Silver."

I couldn't work too well. The numbers kept running out of my head, as if they were leaking out of my ears. I didn't stay late to finish up that night, a rarity for me. I just rushed out as soon as the hand hit five.

The next two months were nerve-wracking. It seemed most nights I continued to have vivid dreams, although it must have only been one or two each week. My sleeping schedule was thrown off, and I began smoking again to keep my nerves down. I had always enjoyed it, of course, I just don't quite get "addicted" to them; it had been months since I'd even touched one. But like old times, I'd buy a pack of Marlboro Reds, the 100s, every week or two, gradually making my way through each pack, keeping the top of the pack. I must say, it was probably the highlight of those two months. That and the dreams. Still, I knew my job was not going to last much longer. My productivity had gone down the toilet, because for one, I had difficulty sleeping at night again, and for another, numbers were just not behaving themselves the proper way for me. I could still do the math, I'm good at math, but the numbers formed different patterns and I often found myself looking for algorithms in the sequences rather than totalling money accrued, depriciable costs, and adjustments for inflation. But what got me fired was the fax machine.

"Stupid machine," I said under my breath, smacking it lightly. The fax was not wanting to go through, and most of the usual methods were just not having an effect. I had shook it, I had smacked it. Hell, I had even kicked it and it still wasn't functioning. These are delicate pieces of machinery, you know, and only the upmost care *kick* must be taken while operating such a crucial *shake* part of our work. I was down to my last effort, about to pray to my gods of choice, not knowing whether I'd be pleading with them or cursing them, when who should walk up but my boss, Mr. Concep, tapping me on the shoulder.

"I would like to speak to you in my office, Mister Silver."

I saw the look in his eyes, on his face. Regret, sorrow, and yet determination. As well as a touch of fear, fear of this confrontation. Fear of me getting physical. Probably because I was several inches taller than him, and more than half-over as wide. WHich meant...

"You're firing me." It wasn't a question.

"Well, uh, yes," he stammered out. "I am sorry, but your productivity as of late has not been up to our standards, and as such your employment at this company is termin- hey!" I had turned my back on him as he spoke, and grabbed my meager belongings at my desk.

"Where's my last check?" He handed me an envelope. I think he tried to say something else, but I was out the door before he could find the words.

What can I say, I left. I left the company, I left my apartment, I left the city. I drove north. Any direction would be better than south. I ended up in San Fransisco, a place I'd been to a couple times for pleasure. At least if I hit rock bottom there, I had places to get assistance, If there's any town to prefer to be homeless in, it's San Francisco. When I got to Market street, I felt as though I'd missed something. I checked my watch's display. June 10th. It was Pride month and I hadn't a single clue until I got there. I went to a club I knew of on Folsom. A real hole in the wall place, but it was a nice place to go to lose yourself in a bottle of beer. Only after I got myself a seat and was nursing a beer did I realize it was a bit different in there.

The bar was darker than before, and some of the classic decorations that bore much of the novelty in the place were gone. The punters didn't look familiar, but they never did. I was sipping on an empty Guinness bottle for a few minutes before the bartender called my attention to the fact. I was about to order another drink when he came over with a new bottle, one that looked like a Killian's. "From the guy at the end" is all he said, passing me the red beer, top off. I looked down the bar to see who it could have been that took such pity on me. I made contact with bright, blue eyes.


	2. Flesh

Note: I do not own Sookie Stackhouse.  
>Second note: Do not read if you are disturbed by any of the following: graphic sex, gay sex, the fetish community in general (especially leather and power exchange). depictions of consensual BDSM, vampirehuman sex scenes, and showing love and affection of puppies who need it.

To my reviewers:  
>I must thank TMack25 and AlphaSprout for their encouragement, as well as danielle. As well, I do appreciate the comparison to such a loved movie, although I myself have never seen the movie and have no basis of comparison. Still, thank you.<p>

**Diary of a Fangbanger**

**Chapter Two**  
><span>Flesh<span>

I contemplated going over to him, sipping the beer as I considered it. This night could prove to end my total confusion as to the whole ordeal I had been through. At the very least, a one-night fling could result, and it had been awhile since I'd been able to just cut loose and enjoy another man's body. And what a body it was. He looked like he could be a diver, with thick shoulders and strong arms. He was most undoubtedly strong; even from this distance; it was obvious. And he obviously knew he was wanted. Eyes from around the small saloon tended to linger on him, some with fascination, some with shades of fear. But all of them contained more than a healthy amount of lust. This man was no fool, so surely he knew exactly what they were thinking of him. Yet the seat adjacent was empty. He was alone. And he wanted me to come over. This man...

I stopped myself before I jumped at him. I had to look at the opposite hand. What if he was not even there that night, and the whole ordeal was a dream? If it wasn't, how had my boss forgotten him so completely and so suddenly? He hadn't been lying, I could see that clear as day on his face. But how could anyone forget him? And what if he was beckoning me over to eliminate the seemingly only memories of his presence there? Or just eliminate me? And how could someone just up and make a guy forget like that, anyway?

I bit of a tingle went down my spine. My boss, well, he had his leanings. I'd seen him back home at my favourite bar there, before it had burned down, and it was most assuredly a gay-oriented one. I'd even done some recon there, and on a certain male-for-male fetish site, and discovered that he had quite the taste for certain things. One thing in particular: hypnosis. That might explain the memory part, but it still left a whole gaping hole of unanswered questions.

Those eyes stared into me. Those eyes. I found myself walking over to him before the thought had completed in my head. _I really could use a Daddy for the night_, I reasoned with myself. As I drew closer, I got a better look at him. His hair was exactly as I had dreamt. _Purple_, I thought to myself amusedly. _His tips are purple_. He had on a leather vest and black leather pants. His large hands signaled I should sit down, and I complied. He smiled a warm smile, although his teeth weren't quite again, neither are mine, so I wasn't about to complain. All I could think to do was smile back at him, a nervous smile. I took a drink of my beer, just a sip, and just sat there, nerves on end.

His hand extended towards me, and caressed the side of my face. Just slightly cool, but not so cold it make me flinch. It made me relax so softly, I half closed my eyes as I found myself leaning closer to him. When he spoke it was like shicking me awake from sleep.

"I have been expecting to run into you again," he said, ominously. I may have been more disturbed if he had not had his hand on my cheek, softly rubbing it. "It seems curious that Fate should choose today for it to finally happen."

"Today?" I asked, starting to snap out of the lull I had been in. "What's so special about today?"

"Have you not seen the news?"

I'd been packing and on the road all day after I left what used to be my job, and had not a chance to hear or read anything in the news. Not that I usually did, but today was particularly absent from the media. "What happened?" I asked, now quite curious.

"Oh, it does not matter for the moment," he said, dismissively. Perhaps even evasively, I though.

"But-" I was stopped short by his mouth meeting mine, a strong, forceful kiss. He separated my lips with his forceful tongue and worked it into my mouth. My head was swimming with enticement. This rough, forceful kind of man was just was I had been needing. Never before had a man stolen a kiss in such a way that left me so breathless and agreeable. And agreeable I was, as when he asked (after stealing another kiss) if I would like to go over his, I could do naught but nod in submission.

The drive was quite fun, although there was not much exchange of words. I couldn't saw much, of course, my mouth being quite full for the duration. As we pulled up to his place, he pulled my head off his lap and laid another huge kiss on me. This man knew my big weakness: raw dominance. He wasn't rude or mean about it, of course. the best way I can explain is to say the man knew what he wanted, and how to get it.

He pulled me through his door, me fully expecting to head straight to the bedroom after getting in. After all, he hadn't gotten to the point of completion in the car, and I knew he was ready and willing. Instead, though, he pulled me to the bar, and placed me between himself and the bar. His hands roamed all oer me, and I was vaguely aware of slight tugging on my clothing. One of his hands found a nipple, and started on it rough and uncompromising, sharp but sensual pain for mutual arousal and pleasure. He was in for a bit of a shock when he drifted over to the other one, however, and found a large bit of metal through it. The only effect it seemed to have was him going at it even rougher and bolder than before. I closed my eyes, riding the warm wave of pleasure that his hands were so expertly dealing to me. This continued for what had to have been a couple hours. I opened my eyes, the dim light helping them not burn from brightness, and noticed that somehow when my eyes had been shut, he'd gotten my shirt off without my noticing, and my pants were around my ankles, down by my boots, with my skivvies down by my knees. Man, this guy knew how to charm the clothes right off a guy.

I let out a moan, and I'm sure at this point I had been calling him Daddy under my breath, because his next actions were probably a response to that. He quickly grabbed my hands with his large ones, and slammed them down onto the wood of the bar. "This is going to hurt, boy, get ready for it," he half-grunted, as I felt something slightly cold and slick right on the outside of my ass. "Take it boy," he said before I'd a chance to react, and shoved himself deep in, making me almost scream with the pain and suddenness.

In some ways it was an ordinary fuck. I'd been fucked over tables before, and a bar is not much different. The feeling of a large cock inside me from an overly-hasty top, I was no stranger to. The fur on his chest was scratching at my back, and he seemed quite fond of nibbling on my neck, both of which I am fairly used to, and in fact, quite love. Even having my hands held down was not knew to me, although it had never been done my brute strength with another man's hands. He was thrusting harder and deeper than I had ever known any man to go, and his stamina was unrivaled. And although the pain had been sharp at first, it went away so quickly, even the soreness dispelled, that just does not happen. I knew my neck was getting red, and I'd have a mark to remember this night by for quite awhile. And still he pounded. It was not long after that, I could feel the rush go through him, could feel the swelling of the rubber, and knew he had climaxed.

But he did not stop. He was an animal. He continued at my neck as he continued to fuck the hell out of my ass. I was vaguely aware that the skin broke at one point, which just made him go over another wave of orgasm. He seemed to just ride that wave for several minutes, all the while using my body. I could swear he was sucking at my bleeding neck. After his ride was over, he pulled out. The sensation of the swollen rubber added to all the other sensations, and compounded in my own climax. Then I passed out.

When I woke, it was still dark. I was lying on a bed in silk shorts in a dark room, and I rubbed my eyes. Man, that had been a night. Lights flicked on, and I stared up at the man who had taken me over waves of pleasure, desire, and so much more. I wanted more.

"You were out quite some time, Tobey," he told me. Hm, so maybe it was night _again_. He waved a hand around the room. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you need it. I had your posessions brought here from the hotel you were staying at. I knew you had only paid through this afternoon, and I knew you needed a place to stay."

My face flushed, part anger, part embarassment, and part admiration. He had invaded my privacy, had obviously found a way into my hotel room, had probably been following me for awhile, had dressed me, had put me up in a spare bedroom, and he had given me the best night of sex I had even had. And, despite part of me really wanting to be mad at him for what he did, it was all to help me. "I appreciate your offer," I said, cautiously. I couldn't hold it in any longer. "What are you?"

"My name is Ashe," he replied. "I am a vampire."


End file.
